In the olden days the misfortunes of William Swan frequently formed the topic of conversation amongst friends, who gathered round the fireside in the homes on the wild wolds of Yorkshire, where he spent some years of his disappointed life. The full details of his career have been lost in the lapse of time; never, to our knowledge, have they been committed to paper, but sufficient particulars may be brought together to prove in his case the truth of the old saying that “fact is stranger than fiction.”

Nearly two centuries ago there was joy in Benwell Hall, near Newcastle-on-Tyne, the stately mansion of Richard Swan, Esq., the occasion of the rejoicing being the birth of an heir. The parents dreamed of a bright future for their boy, and proudly predicted that he would, in a worthy manner, perpetuate the name and fame of Swan. The happy expectations of boyhood were not to be realised, for the young heir had barely reached the age of nine years, when he was kidnapped from his home, in order that another might inherit the wealth that by kinship belonged to him. He was quietly shipped on board the “New Britannia” brig, which formed part of the squadron under command of the famous Sir Cloudesley Shovel. His position was that of a “powder monkey,” and his chief employment was to bring powder from the magazine to the gunners during the naval engagements. On the 22nd of October, 1707, the fleet was wrecked on the Scilly Isles, owing to the Admiral mistaking the rocks for the sea-coast. No less than eight hundred brave men found a watery grave, and several vessels were lost. Happily the ship in which Swan sailed escaped destruction. Ill-fate, however, followed in its wake, for, shortly afterwards, it was captured by an Algerine corsair, and Swan was sold to the Moors as a slave. Four weary years were passed in Barbary. He gained his liberty through the assistance of the Redeeming Friars, a noble body of men who were the means of freeing thousands of Christians from captivity. Many benevolent persons left large sums of money for redeeming their fellow countrymen from bondage, and this money was expended judiciously through the agency of the Friars.Swan had not the good fortune to reach his home in safety. He was again taken prisoner, and sold once more into slavery, this time to an English planter in South Carolina. Here his sufferings were terrible. He toiled with negroes from sunrise to sunset, the slave-drivers keeping them busy at work in the cotton and sugar plantations by means of the lash. Managing to escape, he landed, after an exile of twenty years, on his native shore in 1726, and speedily made his way to Newcastle-on-Tyne. His father’s footman, Thomas Chance, and his old nurse, Mrs. Gofton, identified him, and he at once instituted a claim for the estate of his uncle, Alderman Swan, Mayor of Hull, who had died and left property yielding an income of £20,000 a year. His efforts proved unsuccessful, and the deep disappointment broke his heart, his death occurring in 1736, at the age of thirty-eight years.

Swan had married a Yorkshire woman called Jane Cole, of North Dalton, near Driffield, by whom he had a son named William. The widowed mother told her boy, as soon as he was able to understand, that he was the rightful heir to vast estates, and encouraged him to persevere to obtain them. The melancholy fate of her husband was not sufficient to crush her ardent spirit. A lawyer at Driffield was consulted, and he advised that action be taken. He undertook to conduct the case without payment until the estates were obtained, beyond the sums for correspondence, court fees, etc. The man, however, drained the poor fellow of every penny that he could procure, and both mother and son denied themselves the necessaries of life to keep up the constant demands of the solicitor. Months and years passed without getting any satisfaction. Poor Mrs. Swan at last felt the case to be hopeless, and the anxious waiting, with its disappointing results, preyed so on her mind that she fell into ill-health and died. Speaking to her son before her death, she said: “Oh, William, let this horrid plea drop. Don’t pay that man any more money. I feel that he would skin us both alive. They are a bad set all these law men.” William was young, and like the majority of young people, hope was firmly fixed in his nature. He not only devoted all his money to law, but bought a second-hand copy of “Blackstone’s Commentaries,” and spent all his leisure time in studying it, until he was complete master of the work. After the death of his mother, he gave up house-keeping, and took lodgings with a widow, having a daughter about twenty-four years of age. They became interested in his case, and lent him money to carry on his suit. A rich uncle had left the girl a few hundred pounds. The young couple were brought into sympathy with each other, which ripened into mutual affection, and in a short time, with the consent freely given of the mother, they were married. Shortly after the wedding it transpired that the attorney at Driffield had been cheating his client, and instead of using the hard-earned money of William Swan to gain his estates, he had spent it in dissipation, and was a ruined man.

Swan proceeded to London, and consulted another lawyer. This man advised an action which swallowed up the wife’s small fortune, without getting them one step nearer obtaining the estate. Trouble after trouble came upon William. His heart was almost crushed, but he continued the action to the best of his ability. His wife begged of him to leave law alone, to return to their Yorkshire home, live by their industry, and give up all thoughts of the property. He refused to act upon her good advice. He got into debt, and was committed to the Fleet prison on his inability to pay. Here ill luck still followed him, for he caught the jail fever. In his sickness his devoted wife got permission to visit him, and bring him some delicacies. She, alas, caught the fever, and in a few days died. He recovered, but the death of his loving helpmate was almost too much for him. She had endured much for his sake, but never by word or deed showed regret at becoming his wife. Shortly afterwards a jail delivery enabled him to leave prison. His illness rendered him so weak that he could hardly walk. He obtained lodgings in an obscure lane or alley near Chiswell Street, and afterwards was found dead in bed. It is believed that his remains were buried in a pauper’s grave.